


Daydreams Aren't Reality

by Darth_Videtur



Series: Hot Pursuit [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Just give him what he wants already Palpatine, M/M, Manipulative Palpatine, Possibly unrequited lust, Starstruck Anakin, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Videtur/pseuds/Darth_Videtur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin bemoans his state of limbo, but he knows exactly what he wants, and he's getting a little bolder. Follows my other story "Too Afraid."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daydreams Aren't Reality

_He shivers at the touch of your hand, the caress of your rough and calloused fingertips trailing down over the thin lips and fragile throat._

_“An-a-kin…” he whispers hoarsely. The purring is gone. You’ve stripped it from his throat along with the confidence he usually wears as a second robe. He is shaking, ever so slightly, and it makes you hard with desire._

_“Your Excellency,” you smile and lean closer, dropping one hand to the nape of his neck. There will be no backing away from you this time, and the purr is in your voice now, stolen and grand. You don’t really feel like yourself, but you love it anyway._

_The power you wield over him is intoxicating. He is your slave in this moment, unable to escape your attention. Unwilling, if he could just admit the truth to himself. But he won’t, and so you must show him._

_You coax his trembling skin to warmth under your fingers. You press your full lips to the thin line of his mouth and tease your tongue inside. Insistent. Gentle. Possession is law, and he is yours here. Out there, he is no one’s, but here. Here._

_He belongs to you. You will have him._

_You will have him now._

_“Wait…” he goes rigid in your arms when you slide your hand to the front of his robes._

_You apply the slightest pressure to the faint bulge beneath your palm, watching the blush stain his pale cheeks. “I’m done waiting, Your Excellency,” you grin. “Prepare yourself.”_

_“For what?” he asks even as you back him up against the cool wall and pin both thin wrists above his head. You only need one hand to do it, to hold him there. You’ll use your other hand to open his small, tight body, and you send the thought into his unprotected mind. His breath quickens, either with anger, or fear, or something much more delicious. You can’t tell, and that thought drives you crazy._

_“Prepare to be fucked, sir.”_

_You watch as his eyes grow wide with shock, and you take advantage of his distraction to slide a knee between his legs, playfully kicking his boots further apart, and he struggles to stay upright but for your hand fixing him to the wall like a trophy. Your own special prize._

_“Anakin, hold on,” he starts to say, but the protest is swallowed by your kiss, sudden and demanding as you steer him into incoherent whimpering._

_Then you pause, a new thought springing to mind, something that tightens your cock and balls with intense pleasure. “Have you ever been fucked before, Your Excellency?”_

_His downcast, heavy-lidded eyes and sudden silence are all the confirmation you need. Your heart flames into a furnace of anticipation. “Never been fucked,” you murmur, stunned and insanely pleased. He flinches under your wandering hand, the length of his fragile body pressed against your own._

_You will be his first, his greatest, his only…_

_Getting ahead of yourself, you think. He needs to be ready for you, and the playfulness swells._

_You reach for the ties at his throat._

_“Anakin.”_

“Anakin, why are you still here? Don’t you have a meeting with the Chancellor soon?”

 

Heart-stopping panic pulls you back into the present, into the small, modest quarters you inhabit in the Temple, and you jerk your hand sharply away from your body just before Obi-Wan Kenobi rounds the corner, impeccable and perturbed.

 

With you, as always. His disappointment combined with the high of your fantasy sends a sheet of red over your cheeks, and you launch up from the narrow bed. 

 

“I was just – just wanting to see you off to Chandrila, Obi-Wan,” you stammer. 

 

It’s mostly the truth, anyway. The Order doesn’t often split the two of you up for missions, and Obi-Wan will be gone for the better part of a week. You are to stay behind and go where the Council wants you, no questions asked. You don’t like it, but the Council never does anything you like anyway. At least Ahsoka is still going to be here.

 

Obi-Wan believes you, thank the Force for that, and the two of you take off for the spaceport. When his ship disappears into the sky, you stand for a long moment looking after him, wishing you had the courage to be honest with him. If anyone deserves to know how you feel, it’s him.

 

But this is the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic.

 

But no one can know.

 

Not even Obi-Wan.

 

You blush. Especially not Obi-Wan.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

You’ve wanted him for a very long time, for years now, but the problem is simultaneously obvious and horrifying: he doesn’t look at you like you look at him. He doesn’t even notice. You’ve gotten so much bolder in the last few months, even going so far as to touch his hand or shoulder whenever you get the chance. It doesn’t happen often, and never for long, but the feel of his fingers against yours frightens and entices you.

 

You remember one time that you reached for his hand when boarding a Republican gunship on a tour of an officer academy on the far side of Coruscant. At first, you simply didn’t want him to stumble when crossing the awkward gap of the ship and the platform.

 

And the moment your fingers entwined with his, you forgot the ship even existed because you could only imagine the thought of pinning those slender digits above his head as he would lie underneath you and accept your desperate affection, your worship. You nearly let him go then and there, and his confusion was plain to see. In fact, it was one of the few moments that he and your former master Obi-Wan shared the same expression.

 

But Obi-Wan’s following and faint scowl of disapproval terrified you at the time, because the only thing worse than causing the Chancellor to trip would be Obi-Wan discovering the depth of your desires for the leader of the free galaxy.  

 

But today, Obi-Wan is not here. He’s going to Chandrila with Senator Mon Mothma and a dozen others to keep watch over a controversial refugee bill conference. You are here with the Chancellor, a personal guard as he welcomes a newly discovered race from a small but strategic planet in the Expansion Region interested in joining either the Separatists or the Republic. You stand at parade rest, just behind and to his right as he greets the clicking, bony humanoids with the assistance of a shiny silver protocol droid and a handful of his assistants.

 

The aliens are stubborn and noncommittal. Each time the Chancellor presses them for an answer, they back away with a flurry of droning clicks and whistles. When the chattering horde finally goes away, you feel a headache coming on, the kind that always comes when you don’t know what to do.

 

He is alone now, a solitary figure outlined in shadow against the bright sky of Coruscant, chin propped on his hand in deep reflection, index finger laid over his thin lips. You wonder what he would do if you reached out and brought it to your own mouth, if you slid your tongue across his skin.

 

You take a deep, ragged breath. This is not the time to be thinking about such things.

 

Think about Obi-Wan, scowling at you. You can almost hear his pained Coruscanti tones, the sighed “ _Focus, Anakin.”_

 

And then Palpatine unknowingly, devastatingly undoes what little good your master’s memory was providing. He turns to you with a gentle smile, his eyes soft with a tired amusement. “Thank you for being here today, Anakin. I know this must not have been what you were expecting.”

 

“Yeah, for a new species they were pretty chill,” you force a chuckle, rasping and nervous.

 

He tastes your word on his lips. “Chill…” And then he pauses, tilting his head in a way that leaves you feeling like a shockball player just kicked you in the chest. “Relaxed? Dull? I confess, Anakin, the language of your generation confuses me at times.”

 

“Me too. I’m not even sure that’s still in style. The Jedi Temple gets a little behind the times now and then,” you manage a famous smile, the Skywalker grin that screams to the galaxy, “ _Nothing is wrong here._

 

But everything is wrong, because you want him more than you ever should. More than you were ever taught as a Jedi. It’s wrong, you know it is.

 

There’s the age difference, yes, but many planets and cultures don’t care about that. You are of age, and you know what you want.

 

There’s the fact that he is Supreme Chancellor. If you made your move and the galaxy found out, his career could be ruined. That makes you pause more than anything. He is intelligent and capable and he deserves to be on top of the galaxy. You don’t want to ruin him.

 

There’s the fact that you are a Jedi Knight, sworn to celibacy, or at least, sworn off attachment. But you want nothing more than to attach yourself to him for as long as he will have you. You dream in your most hopeless moments for an eternity.

 

All these thoughts flash through your mind in seconds and then drop away because he is moving from the window in your direction, stopping less than a meter from you. You love the way he moves, all sweeping motion and elegant, precise control. You love the way his robes drape over his trim small figure, the little hints of Naboo culture left here and there, not much anymore but enough.

 

He looks… royal. He looks… you shake your head sharply to get rid of _that_ thought.

 

Palpatine’s eyes widen slightly. “Are you all right, Anakin?”

 

“Yes, sir,” you quickly reply. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

 

“You appear worried,” he says with a small, sympathetic smile. “I think we know each other well enough to dispose with pretense.”

 

You don’t know each other enough, not nearly like you want. You want to know those slightly parted lips better, and those slim hands, and those unseen shoulders and hips and… “I’m fine,” you blurt, jerking your wandering gaze back to his face, seeing the faint confusion in those pale blue eyes. You fight a bright blush. “I guess, I’m just worried about Obi-Wan… We aren’t usually placed on different missions.”

 

“Ah,” he smiles wider. “Chandrila is a very secure planet. I am certain Master Kenobi will meet with success. He has a certain… knack for it.”

 

Is that faint annoyance you sense in his voice? You dare to meet his eyes, suddenly concerned. “And what about you, Excellency? Are you all right?”

 

He is so difficult to see in the Force. As a non-Force-sensitive, he registers only as a mundane presence, slippery with ethereal shadows and nondescript. How you wish he could feel the Force like you do, to share the powerful, intimate experience. After all, he’s shared so much with you: his time, his affection, his kindness.

 

Right now, you only get an impression of modest surprise.

 

“Me? I am well, though my patience has been sorely tried of late,” he admits, and you realize the source of his annoyance. The meeting today did not accomplish what he wanted.

 

It thrills you to see how ambitious he can be under that calm exterior. You adore the little flashes of durasteel that surface sometimes when someone lesser challenges his authority. He’s a not the type of man who needs to constantly flaunt his power; most everyone figures it out within seconds of meeting him.

 

“They’ll come around, Your Excellency,” you promise him eagerly, wanting to set that brilliant mind at ease. “You’ll see, they always do.”

 

He looks up at you, tilting his head back slightly, a half-smile twisting his thin lips. “Your vote of confidence is heartwarming, Anakin, but I hear rumors that Raktanoas spawns a particularly stubborn species. As we have witnessed today. I suppose now it is a simple matter of watching and waiting.”

 

Watching and waiting… something you’ve already been doing for far, far too long. And you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life if you leave it up to him. _Kiss him,_ your traitorous mind whispers, _Lean forward and take him in your arms and kiss him. What would it feel like? Better than you dream._

 

You take a deep breath and look around the room to avoid his gentle attention. “Well, sir, they’ve never met anyone like you before either.”

 

Palpatine laughs, and the warmth of it runs through to your toes like lightning. “You are more confident in my abilities than I am, Anakin.” He pauses and lowers his gaze to the floor and contemplatively murmurs, “and perhaps you are right. Time will tell.”

 

His muted posture suddenly brings the memory of your daydream back to roaring life, and you struggle not to simply reach out and pull his body flush against yours. This is real life, not your fantasy land. He would be angry, frightened possibly. You can’t betray him like that… even though you really, really want to.

 

You take a deep breath. Time to go. “Yes, sir. Unfortunately, time also tells me I should be getting back to the Temple. I need to make my report while it’s still fresh in my mind.”

 

Palpatine reaches out and takes your right hand between both of his, and you drown in the firmness of that grip. “Of course. Thank you, Anakin, for being here today. I know diplomacy is not your favored method of operation, but your presence lent our meeting a necessary gravitas.”

 

You smile at his subtle praise. “I serve at the pleasure of the Supreme Chancellor, sir.”

 

His eyes dance with a strange light, and it’s not until you are in the lifts descending to your shuttle that you realize you should have said “senate” instead. You groan and slam your fist against the wall of the lift, startling the small humanoid sharing the ride. “Sorry,” you mutter.

 

But at least you were honest.   

**Author's Note:**

> What do you guys think? Would you like more stories in this time period/style?


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